Harry Potter’s fashion boutique
by Diruo
Summary: In a world where there is no prophecy and only purebloods are allowed at Hogwarts, where will Harry Potter end up? mild slash HP/LV
1. Prologue

Harry Potter's fashion boutique

Summary: In a world where there is no prophecy and only purebloods are allowed at Hogwarts, where will Harry Potter end up? (mild slash HP/LV)

Warning: Slash (mild)

Disclaimer: None of the recognisable HP-stuff belongs to me. It belongs to JKR and whoever she's sold the rights to. This is a work purely for my amusement and the amusement of others. I am making no money on it. This stands for all chapters in this story.

Prologue

Just past the corner on the right-hand side when you enter Knockturn Alley from Diagon Alley there is an old, tiny little shop. And even though you could see Diagon Alley's bustling streets if you just stuck your head out through the door, the rent was cheap because of the fact that Knockturn Alley just had a really bad reputation. Standing outside the shop on the street was a young man. As he was looking at its boarded up windows he figured that Knockturn was alright a few shops in until the Alley turned slightly. That's where all the shrunken heads and icky stuff was sold anyway.

The young man had a head full of wild shoulder-length ebony black hair and a pair of bright green eyes barely concealed behind a pair of thin rimless glasses. To an outsider his robes would look weird but nobody could deny that they were stylish although unique. From an inside pocket of those weird dark aquamarine robes he withdrew a roll of parchment. It was a deed to a building. Apparently the building in front of him as he fished up a small silver key from another inside pocket, unlocked the door, and stepped in.

Moments later the boards covering up the windows were gone, only to be replaced with shining white and light spring green curtains still making it impossible peek inside, a few seconds later. After a week had passed the small shop was probably the cleanest shop in the entire alley and one of the only few not in a state of disrepair. It was then a modest sign was put up. Shining white letters proclaiming the shop to be:

BWF - British Wizarding Fashion

Harry Potter had just opened his first fashion boutique.


	2. Chapter 1: Childhood

Chapter 1 - Childhood

Since Harry Potter had been three years old he had been living with his aunt Petunia and her husband Vernon Dursley. They had a son named Dudley who should have been like a brother to him but instead was his tormenter. For as long as Harry could remember he had been made to do most of the housework in their home and Dudley loved to mess it up just to see Harry be punished. Punishment usually meant more chores or being forced to do Dudley's homework. Which in the end meant that Dudley never did any of his homework himself. Harry supposed he should be grateful that they didn't beat him and that he did get three full meals a day albeit in small portions. Probably so that he would be able to work even more. But he didn't feel grateful at all. He knew that his parents were dead, although his relatives had always been a bit vague about how that went down, but that was no excuse for making him their slave. Once when Harry was young and didn't know his parents were dead he had dared to ask where they were and the Dursleys had mentioned something about a gang war and that the police had shot them down. Which sounded a bit weird to him because he had about three reasonably clear memories of his parents. And they were all memories of a loving and peaceful couple, even though they were a bit scared of something in all of them too. But he supposed that was no guarantee that they weren't gang members.

In school Harry did quite well. The Dursleys didn't like it when he got better grades than Dudley, but when he had got them consistently for several weeks they hadn't dared to stop him once they found out, didn't want to face any inquiries about why his grades had dropped so abruptly he supposed. As for Harry himself, well, he had realised that his only way to get somewhere in the world when he only had himself to rely on was to get good grades so that he could apply for scholarships. Because he knew that the Dursleys definitely wouldn't put even a single penny on furthering his education.

Harry had a dream. It was a dream that one day he would be able to wear clothes he himself had chosen. He loved to look in the fashion magazines in the library and fantasise about what he one day could wear. But when he read the articles he also felt a burning desire to design and make his own clothes. To make unique clothes, no article of clothing ever the same as another. On his eleventh birthday something happened that gave him the chance to make his dream come true:

It was started as any other day except for the fact that his list of chores was even longer than usual. He realised that he would get no sleep that night if he was supposed to be cleaning the drainpipes, moving the lawn, weeding the garden, painting the fence _and_ cleaning the entire house. He would have to do the vacuuming first and then all the outdoor jobs while he still had light to see. By the time the clock struck midnight he was exhausted, but luckily done. And just as he sank down on the living room carpet, his legs finally giving out on him and preparing to crawl back to his cot in the cupboard under the stairs, he heard something tapping at the window. He looked up and saw an owl. No, not just one owl, two owls and they each seemed to be carrying a letter.

With a strength born from his undying curiosity he pushed himself up from the floor and staggered over to the window. He opened it and the owls landed next to each other on the window frame. They kept perfectly still, perhaps sensing his apprehension, as he reached over to carefully untie the letters from their legs.

One of the letters was thin while the other must have been at least an inch thick. They were both made with some weird kind of paper and lacked stamps. Both were addressed to him. He opened the thin one first. It was from _Gringotts Wizarding Bank_ telling him that a trust fund had been made available for him and that he would have to go to their office in Diagon Alley, London to collect his key. It didn't make any sense he thought as he looked Gringotts up in the phonebook. The bank didn't exist and neither did the street. He hoped the next letter would explain more. But no what he found was a booklet explaining what he as a half-blood could and couldn't do under the new ruler Lord Voldemort. He also found a letter letting him know that though he and all with muggle blood running through their veins was forbidden from entering Hogwarts, he as a half-blood was entitled to take his O.W.L.s and his N.E.W.T.s at the ministry of magic during the next eleven years. O.W.L.s within seven years and N.E.W.T.s within four years after taking his O.W.L.s. The letter also gave the name of a ministry department at the _Ministry of Magic_ that he could send an application to receive some basic education from a tutor. It all seemed very suspect. He looked up from the letters and saw that one of the owls were still there, the one from Gringotts. He wrote a quick message on a sheaf of paper he took from the notebook by the phone explaining that he lived with muggles, he hoped that that meant what he thought it meant, and that he didn't know how to get to Diagon Alley and if they please could give him directions? It seemed safer to ask a bank than a government that really didn't seem to like him.

After sending the short letter his exhaustion came back with reinforcements, all playing on his body like a giant drum in time with his heartbeat, and so he quickly staggered over to his cot, put the letters under his thin pillow and collapsed.

The very next night a reply came. Harry jumped up from the living room floor where he had been waiting and walked over quickly, but silently, to the window to take the letter. It told him to go to Charing Cross Road and look for a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. When he got there he should ask the barman for further directions as to how to get into the Alley itself. He smiled excitedly, then his face dropped. How was he supposed to be able to get to London? The Dursleys would never take him and they always locked him up in his cupboard or got sent to aunt Marge when they went on trips. It would take magic to get to the magic!


	3. Chapter 2: Entering the Wizarding World

Chapter 2 - Entering the Wizarding World

A couple of days after Harry had gotten his reply from Gringotts he managed the impossible. It was the weekend and the Dursleys had gone for a trip somewhere and as usual when Vernon's sister Marjorie was busy, this time vacationing on the Isle of Wight, they locked him in his cupboard with a few fruits, a piece of bread and some water. Not long after they had left Harry, through willpower, desperation and the certainty that magic was real, managed to open the lock on the cupboard and sneak on a bus heading to London and then another bus to Charing Cross where he got his first look at the magical world.

He walked along the street looking out for the pub named the Leaky Cauldron. He was afraid it would be difficult to find because otherwise everyone would already know about the wizarding world. But then he spotted the pub between a record store and a book store. His chin fell down and he stared. It looked so out of place between all the big stores, dilapidated and ready to fall apart as it was, that he wondered how it had managed not to be shut down. Then he noticed how all the other people on the street didn't seem to notice it. Nobody was casting disgusted glances or curious glances or any glances at all and Harry felt a bit stupid. Of course there was a spell to hide it from unwanted eyes!

He entered the pub and headed straight for the bar trying to avoid staring at the various patrons. He seriously doubted they all were human. He called for the barman's attention:

"Excuse me, sir?"

The barman looked up from the newspaper he had been reading and searched for the voice. Finally he looked down and spotted Harry and smiled. It was a kind face although he was missing a few teeth.

"What can I do for you then young sir?"

"I need to go to Gringotts in Diagon Alley and I ´was told you could tell me how to get there."

"Sure I know. Just follow me." He walked around the bar and continued further in in the room.

After walking through a door at the back that led to a backyard surrounded by stonewalls, they came to a stop in front of one of them. The barman pulled out a thin, smooth and perfectly straight stick from his long robes and tapped one stones on the wall three times and suddenly the whole wall opened up and formed an arch. Harry stared. It was like stepping into something out of the middle ages. He hoped that appearances were deceiving and that they had indoor plumbing. He had to take that into consideration if he was going to live in the wizarding world sometime in the future. A cough from the barman brought him out of his reverie.

"You just follow that road straight ahead. It's a really large building, you can't miss it."

"Thank you." He was just about to step through the opening when he thought of another thing.

"Sorry, but would you also happen to know how to get to the Ministry of Magic?"

"Sure, just take the floo."

"The floo?"

"Yes, flooing is the easiest way for a young wizards like yourself to enter the Ministry. Why don't you just come back here when you want to go there and I'll show you how to use the floo, eh?"

"Thank you so much!"

Harry stepped through the arch fully and headed in the direction the barman had pointed out. While he walked through the alley he looked around in wonder, although at the same time feeling just a little bit weirded out. He had imagined some kind of fantasy world where everything was beautiful and had amazing shapes and colours, not this backwards place. Well he just hoped this ministry was better than it had sounded in the letter he had received. Magic could still be amazing to learn and then maybe he could do something about this drab place when he grew up.

Then Harry noticed a large building, blindingly white in the morning sun. It had a pair of large bronze doors flanked by two mean looking beings, not much taller than he himself was, equipped with bardiches. They gave him an intense stare as he walked between them and he shivered. Then he reached a pair of silver doors. These too flanked by a pair of the dark-skinned beings. And then he was inside a large hall made entirely out of marble. It was so splendorous that he almost didn't notice that the walls too where lined with the small beings holding all kinds of pole arms. At least his money should be safe in this place even if he wasn't sure if he was.

He walked over to stand in one of the short lines leading to the beings sitting behind a long desk. He watched curiously, but discreetly, as they used their long fingers to lift up precious stones to watch them through a loupe or shifted through several important-looking papers. Then it was his turn. He took a deep breath.

"Hi," he forced out and gave a slight smile. "I got a letter telling me to come pick up a key to my trust vault?"

"The letter, please."

Harry dug it up from his pocket and handed it over. It was a bit crushed and wrinkled and he felt his face warm up.

"Everything seems to be in order." The being turned and addressed another of its kind:

"Bucktooth, bring young Mister Potter to Gruff the Huffing. Next!"

Harry hurried after the Bucktooth as he scurried away through one of the many doors leading out from the hall. After walking through a hallway they reached the office of Gruff the Huffing. Bucktooth knocked then opened the door.

"Harry Potter here to see you." he announced, handed over Harry's letter, then stood himself outside the door to wait for Harry to finish.

Harry stepped inside gingerly.

"Please have a seat."

Harry sat and watched as the being walked over to a large filing cabinet. Gruff's skin had more wrinkles than Bucktooth so Harry assumed he was older. After a minute or so of flipping through files. Gruff brought one over to the desk. After putting it down he walked over to a small safe that had an old fashioned lock. He twisted the dial a few times then opened it. Harry could see that it was full of keys of various sizes and shapes. Apparently none of them were his as Gruff closed the door and twisted the dial again. As he reopened the door Harry could see it wasn't the same keys as before and Gruff reached in and grabbed a small golden one. He walked back to the desk and sat down.

"Now, this key is just for your trust fund." Gruff said as he handed Harry the key. "On your seventeenth birthday the Potter family vault will be made available for you and you'll have to come back for another key." He opened the folder he had fetched from the filing cabinet and turned it around so Harry could see it properly. "Here's your yearly allowance." He pointed with a long dark-spotted finger. "The rest is information about what you're set to receive when you turn seventeen. You are not allowed to bring this folder with you although you can glance through it now so you can prepare yourself."

Harry read silently for a few minutes then asked:

"How many pounds is one galleon worth?"

Gruff told him. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry how to fund his education when he got older. He handed the folder back and prepared to leave when Gruff took out a blank piece of parchment and a weird looking stone that was flat on one side with the Gringotts crest etched in. He placed the parchment on the first page in the folder, then he put the stone on top and tapped it two times with one sharp nail. He removed the stone and handed Harry the empty parchment that suddenly wasn't that empty anymore.

"You can take that with you Mister Potter. If you want to visit your vault now just tell Bucktooth."

"All right, thank you, bye."

"Good bye Mister Potter."

After going to his vault and stuffing one of his pockets with a bit of gold Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron where the barman he had met before showed him how to use the floo whereupon he flooed to the Ministry of Magic:

Harry fell out of the fireplace and coughed. He definitely didn't like to travel by fireplace. He looked around the atrium he had landed in, taking note of the numerous fireplaces, and headed for the security booth he spotted at the other end of the room.

"Excuse me, could you tell me where I can find the Department of Education?"

"Level three. Wand please."

"I don't have one yet."

The guard waved him onwards and Harry proceeded up to level three.

Once upon a time, before Voldemort's takeover, level three had housed the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It had had three major divisions: the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, the Obliviator Headquarters and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. AMRS was still there, but the other two was obsolete seeing as wizards now were allowed to use magic on muggles and proper etiquette was to clean up after yourself. Level three still bore traces of these recent changes. The walls were bare and there were several empty desks around that nobody had gotten around to moving. Of course, Harry didn't know this and so when he spotted the clutter he just thought that wizards didn't consider education that important. Especially if they used the department as a storage facility.

When Harry's lift had stopped he had spotted a visitor's desk straight ahead and now he was walking over to talk to the teenage witch sitting there reading a glossy magazine. Harry guessed that this was just a summer job for her. He stopped in front of the desk but the witch just kept reading.

"Hi," No reaction. "could you perhaps tell me how to go about getting a tutor?" She finally looked up. Then she smiled nastily.

"A little half-blood are we." she said. Then she reached into a drawer in the desk and pulled out a thick roll of parchment. "First you have to fill out this form, _love_." she started to explain while rolling it out. The end rolled over the edge of the desk and onto the floor. It must have been almost ten feet! "Then after it has been processed and _if_ it has been approved you can either choose to pay a monthly fee or swear an oath to the administration. After that you will be handed a tutor. Once a year you will have to apply again. And that's it. Easy enough isn't it." She gave a big fake smile, shoving lots of teeth before rolling up the parchment with a tap of her wand. She started to hand it over but halted the movement. "Of course, processing can take quite a while. Maybe a year or so. So, if you want to get a tutor faster you'll have to pay our modest processing fee."

"And how much is that?" Harry asked feeling suspicious.

"Oh, just 50 galleons." She finally gave him the scroll.

Harry grabbed the scroll numbly and stared at her.

"Thank you." He finally forced out. But the witch was already giggling maliciously behind her magazine.

Harry left the Ministry gloomily, even if he hadn't checked what the parchment said yet he had a feeling that it wouldn't be nice. He decided to treat himself with some ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. He'd probably need some cheering up after this. He sat down at a table and ordered. While he waited he observed the crowd. There seemed to several wizards and witches that were dressed expensively. Among these there were some who walked with their noses in the air and without stepping aside for anyone. Everybody avoided those wizards. The difference were that the more poorly dressed nearly threw themselves aside to get out of the snobby ones' way while the others merely stepped aside and lowered their eyes. The whole thing seemed really messed up. Actually, now that he thought about it, the whole place seemed rather sombre and quite a few people almost seemed scared. Then his order arrived and he closed his eyes to properly savour his treat. After a few bites he rolled open the top part of the parchment. He glanced over the questions, the first few were pretty standard: name, age, address etc.. Then came parents' ancestry and fortune and so on. Finally his gaze fell on number fourteen: _If you bump in to a pureblood on the street what would you do?_ He looked up from the form and looked at the people in the alley again. The snobby ones were probably these so called purebloods. And based on the people around them he had a feeling that you were supposed to answer 'Fall down on your knees and beg for forgiveness.' or something similar. He decided then and there that he would learn magic through self-study.

Harry managed to get home before his relatives and so they never noticed he had gone. He kept all knowledge of the wizarding world secret from them. Although he had a nasty suspicion that they already knew. His father seemed to have been a pureblood and if he had been anything like the ones in Diagon Alley his mother had surely been a witch too as he couldn't imagine them dealing with muggles if they hated half-bloods so much. So at the very least Petunia must have known that her sister was a witch. He supposed that was why they hated him so much. They hated anything unnatural and that included magic. He was the son of a witch and a wizard so of course they hated him. But as long as they thought that he didn't know that they knew or indeed knew anything at all himself, he was safe and could go on as before. Except for a little extracurricular studying during the nights.

That day Harry had spent in Diagon Alley he hadn't really bought anything except a few essentials like a wand, a bottomless bag and an owl. Mostly he had just gone around to gather catalogues so that he could mail-order what he needed.

Only one thing had been a bit curious. When he had bought his wand, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, the wandmaker Ollivander had almost seemed a bit frightened when he handed over the magical instrument. But nothing else had happened.

And that was the manner in which his youth was spent. Ordinary studying during the day and magical studying when he could, most often during the night with only his owl as company. He had named the snowy owl he had bought Hedwig. And though he couldn't keep her in his room during the day she was his dearest friend while he grew up. His only friend, as a matter of fact, and he loved her dearly.


	4. Chapter 3: Away from England

Chapter 3 - Away from England

Harry was greatly relieved when he finally could leave the Dursleys. While his relatives, well Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon at least, had bettered their treatment of him ever since he'd started Stonewall High he still would never be able to call them his family. In the beginning he hadn't understood why the Dursleys had seemed so much more calm, content and accepting of him. His Aunt Petunia had even bought him a real uniform for school! But later on he realised that it was because Hogwarts letters arrived close to the time of a child's eleventh birthday. Harry hadn't got one which they thought meant that they had managed to stamp the magic out of him. As if. His dear relatives could obviously not know that nowadays only pureblood children went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

In the beginning of this nicer treatment he had thought it was a trick of some kind and so walked around tense and on his guard. But when nothing happened he didn't complain as he got more time to study due to a lessened amount of chores a day. Oh, he still had to do all chores in the house. But he didn't have to do more then necessary. For example, he no longer had to clean the entire house every day. Once a week was enough. Same with laundry and so on so forth.

While Harry eventually had gotten a new uniform for school the first few weeks in Stonewall High wearing what looked like pieces of elephant skin put its mark on the rest of Harry's time there. He had been a prime-target from bullies during those few weeks and although he quickly had learned to utilise the Notice-Me-Not charm and managed to escape harm that also included not getting any friends. He did gain a few acquaintances from the various projects they were required to work on in pairs but he never spent any time with them outside of school knowing he had to prepare for his O.W.L.s. All in all, no friends included, he was rather content during his time at Stonewall High. The lack of Dudley made all the difference he supposed.

Still he was, as stated, relieved to be able to leave the Dursleys and, in truth, England behind. He had visited Diagon Alley a few more times during the years and although the fear of the lower classes had almost disappeared with time, nobody really seemed all that happy. And the more he got to know about the Ministry of Magic in Britain the more he felt a need to get away. He had learned that half-bloods usually had a tracking charm on their wands but he had managed to avoid that by being raised in the Muggle world. He deemed it best to keep away from purebloods so that they wouldn't notice that little titbit of knowledge.

When he informed his Aunt and Uncle that he was going to study abroad he told them that he had managed to get a scholarship, but the truth was of course that he had used his inherited money to pay for tuition at a fashion school in Paris. He studied with dedication and delight and eventually gained the French equivalent for a Bachelor's degree in Fashion Design and an Associate's degree in Fashion Merchandising. Unfortunately, as he kept up with his magical studies at the same time he didn't gain any friends among his peers. Outside of his peers at the school though he did gain a few pen-pals he felt rather close with:

At seventeen, while still living at the Dursleys, he had taken his O.W.L.s managing to get Os in every subject: Dark Arts and their Defence, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Magical Creatures and Beings, Herbology, Astronomy and Arithmancy. And although it took almost a year before he got his results he started studying for his N.E.W.T.s earlier: Dark Arts and their Defence, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. But then after taking them in the spring before his twenty-first birthday he felt that there still was a lot about magic he didn't know. The only subjects he had studied so far was those he could take O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s in and they had been listed in that letter from the Ministry he had gotten so long ago when he turned eleven. Now when he was finished with that he could start learning other subjects that he would enjoy more.

So what happened was that Harry started searching for knowledge about how magic itself worked, not just what you could do with it. While Arithmancy and Ancient Runes had covered a little of this, especially how magic could be enhanced with the use of runes or numbers, the subjects hadn't covered a lot about a wizards own magic and indeed when he looked he saw that nobody really knew, there where mostly just theories floating around. One theory about wizards having an invisible aura of power fascinated him. He thought that if that was true then one wizard's power should react to another's if they got close. To test that would take a lot of time, more than he had a t the moment. But to test the already existing theory, just for fun, he ventured into magical Paris:

First he went to a shop that sold stationary and bought three Dicta-Quills and a roll of parchment which he cut into three pieces. Then he sat down at a café and ordered some tea. He activated the first quill by tapping it once with his wand and then putting it down on the parchment. After that he said:

"Portez ce vieux whisky au juge blond qui fume"

Then again with the second quill and again with the third. After finishing his tea he quickly sought out nineteen others who could do the same thing. Dicta-Quills wrote in a pre-charmed style, a style that was supposed to be easy to read but still look good. All quill should have writing that were exactly the same which meant that if they didn't a wizards magic did affect their surroundings. As it was possible that it would only be minor differences he decided to use a well known sentence that contained all the letters in the alphabet so that he would notice the differences even if it only was a single letter that differed. The result of this test was that some didn't affect the writing at all while some did to the level that it didn't look anything like it should at all. His writing was of the latter sort. This gave credence to the theory about the aura of power.

His little experiment with the Dicta-Quills made him really curious and he made plans for several much larger experiments. While he would have wanted to start them sooner he didn't have time to carry them out until after he was done with school and had begun working at one of the larger fashion houses in Paris. Even then it took some time and he had to wait until low season and he could take a few weeks vacation until he could start. He made several extensive experiments during the next couple of years, using lots of people, some that helped of curiosity and some that he paid. This led to several published articles and the acquisition of a few pen-pals to discuss theory with. These pen-pals were the closest to friends he had ever had.

Incidentally one of them turned out to be a former Death Eater who had been at the battle where his parents had died:

'About twenty years ago the last battles between Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix was fought. By that time the Ministry of Magic was in shambles and were no help to either side. We had just tracked down one of the Order's safe houses, hidden beneath the burnt down village of Godric's Hollow. James Potter had just been hit and had fallen to the ground gravely injured but then, right when his opponent was about to finish him off with an Avada Kedavra his wife Lily Potter threw herself in front of him. Then Sirius Black came rushing with his and Potter's close friend Peter Pettigrew not far behind, killing the Death Eater and dragging James Potter to safety. Unfortunately for Black and Potter, Pettigrew was one of us and so he stabbed Black in the back and slit Potter's throat while he was still unconscious. The tree of them plus another were apparently very close friends during their Hogwarts years. And so when their last friend Remus Lupin heard of Pettigrew's betrayal he sought him out during the full moon, he was a werewolf you see, and chewed him to pieces. Later he was killed by the new regime who didn't want a feral werewolf, who was also an order member, running around. The leader of the order Albus Dumbledore was miraculously the only one to survive the final battle only to succumb to a slow acting curse from a cursed ring a few days later.'

Harry supposed that it had been Dumbledore who had placed him with the Dursleys. Seeing as he was the only one who had lived long enough to.

Harry worked for about three years at the fashion House in Paris. He learned a lot during his time there and felt content working with fashion design. He probably would have stayed if it weren't for one thing: The dreadful fashion of wizarding Britain. He had not had much contact with British wizards but he was never able to forget the awful state of their robes. It kept gnawing at him and when he wasn't paying attention he kept sketching designs for robes.

At age 26 he returned to Britain.


	5. Chapter 4: The First Meeting

A/N: Sorry this took a bit longer than usual, but I wanted to make sure their first meeting was _perfect_ ;)

Chapter 4 - The First Meeting

Harry Potter had only visited his native country a handful of times since leaving for Paris. Once to take his N.E.W.T.s and the rest to make sure his properties were still secure. After all, one wizard was rarely enough when it came to creating long-lasting unplottable effects. Still, despite his lack of interaction with the British wizarding world, he would have had to be blind not to notice the atrocious fashion the wizards and witches there seemed to insist on wearing. Consequently his future was set. He had had no choice but to some day open a fashion boutique in Diagon Alley and revolutionize British Wizarding Fashion. He desperately wanted robes that contained more colour and were more formfitting. Perhaps he could also introduce them to a simple concept called trousers.

BWF was opened a sunny day in August just past the mouth of Knockturn Alley.

Not counting that Harry's life had been rather lonely he was in fact rather lucky. Most children who had had parents who had fought for the light side during the war had, upon the deaths of their parents, become wards of the Ministry and as such had had all earthly possessions taken from them. Harry, on the other hand, had been hidden from the eyes of the Ministry and as all knew, nobody can force the Goblins to do anything they don't want to, so his inheritance remained his. Of course, during the first few years there had been a brief search among the light families to see if anyone was hiding him. But when they didn't find anyone they just assumed that he wasn't in the country and at that time it was only Great Britain and Ireland that was under Voldemort's control. And now when Harry was of age there was no longer anything anyone could do, unless they were provoked of course.

Harry was aware of his luck and so when customers from the higher echelon's of wizarding society started to drop in, seeing as he had no real competition, he made sure to be patient and respectful so that nobody would remember that James Potter had paid with nothing more than his life for being a blood-traitor.

The Malfoys, always trying to stay on top of things, were a few of his first customers. And not long after that an even more illustrious customer arrived…

The clear jingle of the lovely little bell Harry had put above the door to his boutique BWF made him look up from his issue of _Magical Theorems_. In stepped a tall slender man with eyes as red as molten lava and a presence as commanding as the roar of thunder. His magic rushed in to fill the room and Harry nearly closed his eyes to enjoy the harmonious way it interacted with his magic. But he didn't. Instead Harry nodded respectfully at the man and put away his magazine to give the ruler of a large part of the wizarding world his full attention.

"Lord Voldemort. Welcome to my boutique. How can I be of service?"

"You come warmly recommended from Lucius Malfoy, Mr. Potter. And he can be a hard man to impress when it comes to apparel. But let me assure you that I can be even harsher in my judgment."

Voldemort gave Harry a hard stare and let the silence speak for a moment.

"I need a new dress robe for the upcoming ball to celebrate my twenty-third year as ruler." he continued when he felt Harry understood the graveness of the situation.

"It's an honour, my Lord. Please, come this way."

The walked to the back of the boutique where nobody could peek in on you through the windows.

"Here, let me take your robe." Harry stretched out his hands and Voldemort turned around so Harry could help him take it off.

"Now, step up on the stool so that I can take your measurements, my Lord."

As Voldemort did so Harry stepped back and ran his eyes up and down his form, appreciatively, although he didn't show that appreciation on his face. In true old wizarding fashion Voldemort wore nothing except a pair of leggings underneath his heavy robes. Harry circled Voldemort a couple of times before he withdrew his wand to summon his notebook, a pen and a tape measure.

"Please try to relax, my Lord. The measurements will be slightly skewed if you remain that tense."

He stretched out the tape measure and approached Voldemort with it.

"I think it will need a lot of fabric to keep up with that graceful and liquid style of yours. A light fabric to make sure it flows nicely, but not too flowing so that it billows. A dark colour. How do you feel about a reddish tone?" Harry blabbered on as he measured Voldemort's height. And when he had kept on talking in this manner for a while he noticed that Voldemort did get more relaxed and so he decided it was time to take the more intimate measurements.

Harry moved the tape measure across Voldemort's shoulders. And gave an unseen smile as he made sure to brush his fingertips against the Dark Lord's back. He kept taking measurements downwards until he stood on his knees before Voldemort. He lifted his hands and brushed his knuckles against the inside of the strong firm thighs. For a man in his seventies Voldemort was in incredible good shape. He could be taken for a man in his mid thirties even! If you disregarded from the slight grey hints at his temples. Harry looked up and met Voldemort's unreadable gaze with his own intense green one.

Suddenly Voldemort interrupted the loaded silence with a question:

"Why do you take all you measurements by hand?"

"Well, as you should know, all wizards', but especially powerful wizards', magic have an effect on the magic around them. With weaker wizards I wouldn't bother because their ambient magic wouldn't be able to overpower the charm I put on my tape measure. But with a powerful wizard such as yourself, if our magic isn't highly compatible, the measurements taken by magic would probably end up completely hay-wire."

"Then how come other robe makers have taken my measurements with magic?"

"Although I don't want to seem boastful, my magic is probably stronger than theirs. Conflict only appears between two magical forces of similar power. Your magic was so much stronger than theirs that there never was question of which would win. It's the same with all magical objects. Besides, haven't you ever wondered why some wizards just click immediately upon meeting before either have said a single word? It's because their magic is either similar or complement each other's really well."

"You dare presume to be of similar magical power as myself?!"

"No, no, of course not. Just enough that a few measurements could be skewed that's all, I don't want to take the chance that your robes would be anything less than perfect, my Lord. I meant no slight."

After a few moments of tense silence Harry announced his measuring complete and brought out a few pieces of fabric for him to look at.

"Here, look at it in the light; isn't it just lovely?"

"It looks like it's dripping with blood." Voldemort stated with a dry voice.

"Exactly." Harry said with a glint in his eyes and a small grin.

Not even a dark lord would be able to keep a small smile off his lips at that.

"I'll take it."

"Excellent."

The very next day Voldemort returned to pick up his new outfit.

"Welcome back my lord. I have your new clothes in the back, if you'd please follow me and try them on." Harry waved his hand in the direction of back where they had been the day before.

Voldemort tried on the outfit. It consisted of a pair of trousers and a shirt in the same shade. That of a dark charcoal moving towards black. The shirt had a high collar that still left the front of his throat open. The robes themselves were open all the way down except for in the chest area where they were connected by a thick silver chain. Also following the edges of the robe and the edges of the shirt and the pair of trousers were a total 343 runes in stitched in black thread containing various charms and spells to keep the fabrics in perfect shape and the wearer in perfect comfort. Voldemort spun around in front of the large mirrors Harry had in the back, and true to his word the fabric Harry had picked out flowed along nicely. Voldemort pronounced himself satisfied. Then, when he had changed into his regular clothes again, he turned to Harry and said:

"After our discussion on magic last time, I decided to see what had been published on the subject. You didn't mention that you had published several extensive articles yourself. Articles that have been circulated through Europe and the Americas and even in some parts of Asia. Seemingly everywhere but England… Why is that?" Voldemort asked, finishing almost in a hiss.

"There's no need to get angry. You see, while _your_ laws allow half-bloods, such as myself, to own and run their own businesses if they have sufficient O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, they're not allowed to express their opinions publicly without the support of a pureblood. I was not about to indebt myself to a pureblood just to publish an article in countries controlled by yourself when it was much easier to publish elsewhere. Especially as I was already living in France." Before Voldemort had time to get even more riled up Harry asked with a smile:

"Now, how about we go out for a cup of tea? I now a really nice little place on the muggle side of London."

Whatever else it did, it silenced Voldemort who threw a small bag of gold at Harry's head before storming out of the small boutique with the package containing his new outfit in his arms. Harry caught the bag before it could hit him and gave a low chuckle.

"He'll be back." he said to himself as he sat down at a table to work on some other orders.


	6. Interlude: Voldemort's Nightmare

A/N: **M-rated chapter. **No need to read if you don't want to, it's not necessarily a real part of the story.

Interlude: Voldemort's Nightmare

Voldemort stared at the owner of BWF, Harry Potter, with trepidation as he approached him where he stood on the stool. The manic gleam in Potter's eyes didn't bode well and the tape measure stretched out in front of him felt more like a threat than a wand ever had. Voldemort reached for his wand, only to remember that it still lay in his robe. His robe that he had taken of and given to Potter. He tensed having decided to make a run for it, when Potter, seemingly having read his mind, jumped him and bound him with the tape measure. Voldemort stiffened in terror as Potter started to caress his body. Potter's hands drifted lower and lower until one of them gave his manhood a slight tug. Voldemort refused to admit that it too had stiffened by Potter's treatment and he started to wonder if he was about to be raped. And indeed it seemed that way because the next thing Potter did was to rip of his leggings. Then he wrapped his arms around Voldemort in an embrace and apparated them to a bedroom somewhere. Voldemort decided to try a wandless _stupify._ But before he could complete the word his voice was muffled by an invading tongue.

He screamed.

And woke up panting, tangled in his bed sheets. Obviously he was not yet ready to return to BWF to put in another order.


	7. Chapter 5: The Careful Process

Chapter 5: The Careful Process of Falling in Love

Harry opened the door to his boutique and stepped out, smiling briefly at the jingle. With closed eyes he turned his face towards the morning sun. After a moment of enjoyment he turned to Hedwig who sat perched on his arm.

"Now, this letter is for Lucius Malfoy. You've flown to him before, several times, so he shouldn't be hard to find."

Harry stroked her head then lifted his arm to catapult her into the air. Then, just as he was about to re-enter his boutique he felt the hairs on his neck raise and all the warmth of the sun so quickly gathered in his jet-black hair seeped out even quicker. He slowly turned his head to the left, and there, emerging from the crowds of Diagon Alley was the Dark Lord with eyes like living flames. Harry shivered, not entirely with fear, and then tapped his wand on the sign fastened to his door. From having, not even an entire second ago, shown:

_OPEN_

The sign changed as if an invisible hand was erasing the word and starting to scribble something else:

_CLOSED FOR FITTING_

_please return later_

_or_

_schedule a time by owl_

He held the door open as Voldemort approached, then entered. He took a deep breath to combat his nerves then followed Voldemort inside and locked the door. For several minutes nothing penetrated the silence. Harry kept standing with his back to the door staring at Voldemort who stood in the middle of the room staring back at him. Then he swallowed and suddenly the noises from the street outside started to filter back in. Harry spoke:

"Welcome back, my Lord. How can I be of service today?"

"I need to update my entire wardrobe." Voldemort answered, almost, reluctantly.

Unfortunately for Voldemort's pride, but fortunately for his reputation, his new outfit for the ball had been a tremendous success and consequently business for Harry immediately went up. The longer Voldemort had waited to do something the more difficult it became. When the purebloods had noticed the completely new style he had been wearing they, of course, wanted the same. Because of this Voldemort couldn't come up with a good reason to shut Harry down, or give him a scare, or anything really. Besides, by his own laws half-bloods were allowed to own and run a shop if they had the necessary qualifications, meaning outstanding O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and changing the entire law because he'd been invited for tea didn't seem like a good idea either. The new style allowed for so much more freedom both of movement and of individual expression that not even he wanted to return to his old style and so he been forced to return to Harry's boutique.

"I must warn you, my Lord, that such an enterprise will take several hours. Do you want to proceed immediately or make an appointment?"

"I'll be back on Thursday." Voldemort started to walk towards the door. Harry quickly unlocked the door and stepped aside. Then just as Voldemort was about to pass him he said in a low voice:

"I'll keep the entire day free then, shan't I, my Lord?"

Voldemort gripped his wand tightly in his pocket and the muscles in his arm tensed in preparation, but the thought of an angry mob of purebloods stayed his hand and he just scowled at Harry and walked out of the boutique.

When Thursday came Voldemort had carefully prepared himself by meditating and Harry had resolved that if they were to spend several hours together, or rather considering the size of the order, he better be extra careful not to anger the Dark Lord. As the morning crowds started to thicken Voldemort arrived and Harry closed the boutique for the day. Together they sat down at a table in the back and Harry handed over a thick portfolio.

"Take a look and see if anything catches your eye, my Lord, otherwise we'll start from scratch."

Voldemort flipped through the pages.

"Something similar to this for about five of the sets." Voldemort pointed at a full-length, double-buttoned design in bright yellow that originally had been made for a former member of the Wizengamot whose wife had decided he needed some colour. Obviously they had both been colour-blind... "Though obviously not in that colour."

"For everyday use? Office-type days I mean."

The Dark Lord nodded and raised an eyebrow.

"Then we should probably cut the sleeves and maybe... My Lord, how do you feel about capes?"

The day went by in a similar manner without any fights, except when Harry refused to allow more than five black robes, as they stuck to talking about designs. They worked, without stopping for lunch, until late afternoon when Voldemort pronounced himself pleased.

"This will be enough for this season. I trust you are able to take care of the details?"

Harry nodded.

"How soon do you want them to be finished? And do you want to pick them up all at once or spread it out?"

"Complete them all within the month. I will collect them all at once, so make sure you the whole day free because I suppose I will have to try everything on too?"

"You're quite correct, my Lord."

Harry had started to organise his sketches when he noticed Voldemort wasn't leaving.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. Did you have any questions?"

"I was just a bit curious to see how you work. The clothes I wore for the ball had these runic designs that were tingling with power."

"Ah, well... I won't be doing anything as complex as your robes tonight. I'm just going to finish a couple of orders I've had laying about for a while, but you're of course welcome to stay for a while and watch. But please, be careful to contain your magic. It can be delicate work even without other interfering powers involved."

Harry gathered up all the sketches and the pieces of fabric from the couch and then headed to the drapes that concealed the opening leading to the back of the store.

"Come along then."

Harry turned left and headed up the old wooden spiral staircase in the corner. Voldemort followed, although carefully when hearing the squeaks. They entered a room bright like a beautiful summer day. Somehow the entire ceiling had been charmed to portray a blue sky with a few, small, white clouds bobbing along. Harry noticed the unasked question by the quirk of Voldemort's brow.

"I've always found that the best light is natural light."

The whole upper floor was a single room with several tables spread out in no recognisable pattern, but all filled with various projects. The walls were lined with cloth-filled shelves.

"Leviscamnum" Harry said and swished his wand.

Suddenly a chair was coming floating through the air. It landed gently beside the staircase and Voldemort settled down in it.

"If you have any questions during the process, please wait until I'm done before you ask them."

Then Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at a wad of rich green fabric. It floated up in the air and remained there even when he pointed his wand at a pair of scissors. The scissors immediately attacked the fabric cutting ruthlessly along the markings upon it. Soon everything was cut and he repeated the process with a wad of cream-colored silk taffeta. Before Voldemort had time to blink a storm of pins had flown from a super sized pincushion that lay in a corner and fastened the cut pieces together. Next a needle was stitching everything together following the minute movements of Harry's wand, the tip blurred at the pace. Soon Harry was wandering of to a large chest of drawers to gather some thick silver-gilt thread and some gilded buttons etched with runes. Voldemort looked at the cloth. It had been transformed into a men's jacket, perhaps meant to be worn under an open robe on more formal occasions.

Harry started with the threads. Fastening them with silk thread by hand. It was fascinating, even though no magic was used, to watch how bit by bit a pattern of swirls appeared from the waist up, turning around the neckline and down to the waist again. It was only three threads in total, but the design still occupied most of the front. At the edges of the sleeves another thread was fastened looping them three times and ending with a slight swirl. Then when the buttons were put on and Harry stopped for a moment to look the jacket over. He turned to Voldemort and gave a bright smile that made his eyes sparkle.

"Now's when the real magic begins."

Harry lifted his wand did several complicated movements, that made the air in front of him shimmer briefly, before pointing the wand at the gold threads on the chest, tracing their path. They flashed for a moment. Then Harry went over to a small side table and took a sip of water. As he returned to the table with the jacket he took a deep breath. Then with an intense expression on his face he started to chant in some ancient language while moving his wand in the runes etched into the seven buttons. Magic moved in colourful streams through the air, forming the shapes of runes briefly before rushing into their physical counterparts. The buttons lit up one by one until when the last one was shining the whole jacket lit up briefly before all lingering magic in the air was sucked into the buttons and Harry stilled.

Voldemort blinked, then shivered like the sun had just been hidden behind a thick cover of clouds. Harry turned around and their eyes met. A long moment passed.

"Beautiful." Voldemort whispered.

Harry blushed and shifted his eyes.

"Ah, that was quite some display. Will you tell me what it was you did?"

"Ah, of course. I began by layering comfort spells, anchoring them to the gold threads. Then came the spells to prevent damage to both the fabric and the seams but also the colour. That was the runic magic you saw. The difficult part is that you still have to allow for some stretch so that the fabric moves with the body. That's where the chanting come in. If you just use the runes you'd get a really long-lasting jacket, but it would be quite uncomfortable."

"Truly fascinating. Well, I need to depart. My thanks for allowing me to watch you."

"You're welcome."

They walked in silence to the door. Harry gazed at Voldemort's back as he walked away. Then he raised his arm to receive the snowy owl that came swooping down.

"Well, Hedwig, what do you think? I think that went quite well, I think."

He felt a sharp pain from his ear.

"Yes, I know he's dangerous and probably a bit evil. But I can't help it, I really like him."

Together stood for a long time watching the evening crowds.


	8. Chapter 6: The Inevitable

A/N: Sorry for the delay but we are now entering unwritten territory. When I started to publish this story I had written most of the first four chapters so updates where quick. Unfortunately this means that from now on updates will have to take a while longer. But no worries, I still know exactly where I'm going. (I even have an epilogue written :P)

Chapter 6: The Inevitable

Scarcely a month later Voldemort was back up on the stool.

"Stretch out your arms, please. Eh, what do you say about adding slits from here," Harry put a finger on Voldemort's wrist and dragged it along the underside of the arm up to the armpit. "to here?"

Voldemort nodded and Harry summoned a pair of scissors specially inscribed with runes to cut the already enchanted fabric. Except for these small observations they spent most of the time in a companionable silence, each lost in his own thoughts. But eventually the need for at least some conversation arose. While they felt that they were past speaking of the weather, speaking about politics could prove to be a bit too volatile and was best avoided. Instead Voldemort decided to inquire about the fashion designer's education:

"I must congratulate you on receiving such excellent results on your O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. tests. May I inquire as to how you received education on the matter?"

Harry smiled.

"Thank you. Actually, I taught myself, whenever I could find the time."

"What could possibly have prevented you from studying magic?"

"Well, seeing as I was brought up by my muggle relatives and didn't learn about the wizarding world until I was eleven, I had already started my muggle education. Because of this I felt that the best course for me was to complete it. And after that I immediately went on to fashion school in Paris which managed to keep me quite busy. Besides, if I had entered the wizarding world for real when I first found out about it, I doubt I would have been able to hide it from my relatives."

"Why would you have had to hide it? Shouldn't they have known? Both your parents were magical, I recall."

"Ah, well it doesn't matter now. Let's just say that they didn't like abnormal things such as magic and myself."

Voldemort's eyes glazed over for a moment before he said in a far-off voice:

"Yes, I know what you mean. The orphanage that i grew up in didn't appreciate magic either."

Harry decided it prudent not to comment on that statement. A few minutes went by before Voldemort suddenly asked:

"Why did you go to fashion school instead of entering the wizarding word fully upon the completion of your muggle studies?"

"Fashion design is a dream I've had since childhood so magic naturally came second. Besides, at that time I still hadn't taken my N.E.W.T.s. I did visit both Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic when I had just learned of the magical world." Harry wrinkled his nose slightly. "But it was quickly made clear that my immediate future wasn't in the wizarding world. Despite of this, I tried to learn as much about magic as I could. Even after taking the exams I continued to use my spare time for exploring magic. But still, I haven't actually _received _any education on the matter."

"Oh."

Harry had to hold back a grin at the sight of Voldemort's slightly stumped look. He probably couldn't imagine how someone could choose to stay out of his wonderful world. Harry leaned back a bit to get a proper look on Voldemort's expression as he said:

"The truth is, I should probably thank you for disallowing half-bloods from Hogwarts as I probably never would have managed to keep up with a muggle education through self-study. Not in a boarding school without access to the muggle world anyway."

Voldemort didn't answer. He simply glared briefly before glancing at the needle Harry was using to loosen a few of the stitches on the collar of the shirt he was trying on. Then he swiftly changed the subject:

"But how did you manage to practise? We place spells on half-bloods immediately as they are born to monitor the children's use of magic! They're not allowed to practise magic on their own until they have passed their O.W.L.s."

"Which they rarely can seeing as they have difficulties acquiring a formal education." Harry scowled lightly. "I, on the other hand, was born during the war..." Harry didn't have time to finish his sentence.

"We rounded up all half-blood and muggleborn children after the war! We placed the spells then so even though you were born during wartime it shouldn't have mattered."

"As I was about to say, I was placed at my muggle relatives before you had managed to organise yourselves. Therefore, the spells were never placed on me and because of the fact that you don't care if wizards use magic on muggles as long as they don't reveal the wizarding world…"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Nobody noticed."

"Exactly."

They fell silent again and the fitting continued. Then it was Harry's turn to break the silence:

"I..."

Voldemort, who just had been observing a small school of fish swimming around in a tank standing on top of the chest of drawers that covered almost the entire wall opposite him, shifted his eyes to Harry.

"I mean no offence, but I have to ask you, you don't even have to answer, but... are you truly content with this society you have created?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I am!"

"There's no need to be defensive. Please, just think about it? For your own sake, are you truly happy with the world as it is?"

Voldemort cast his fiery eyes into Harry's but found no malice or blame only sadness and a gentle curiosity. So he jus took a deep breath and looked went back to staring at the fish tank. The silence dragged on, a bit more uncomfortably, but not tensely. Still, when Voldemort was trying on the final piece both he and Harry was quite tired after a day of making the final adjustments to a total of twenty outfits so when Harry accidentally stuck him with a needle... It isn't difficult to imagine that the Dark Lord wasn't pleased:

"Tell me something Potter: Where does a half-blood, who nobody can remember ever having met, learn to be so successful amongst purebloods as you have been?"

"Just because you British purebloods like to isolate yourselves doesn't mean that other purebloods do. Besides the only way to learn how to deal properly with divas is in the muggle world of fashion!"

"Don't drag muggles in to this! You could easily have learned from a tutor instead."

"Do you really believe that anyone with brains would fill in that _form_ you have at the Department of Education?"

"Why you little! You should be grateful I allow you people to have any magical knowledge at all if you don't even want to stay here!"

"I would have loved to stay when I first learned of this world, unfortunately all your laws and restrictions made sure I'd not! If it weren't for the awful fashion here I would have stayed in Paris!" Before Voldemort had time to answer Harry exclaimed:

"There, done!" And with a last poke of the needle Harry stepped away into the front of the boutique to let Voldemort change in private.

Seconds later Voldemort came storming with a _Crucio_ on his lips. Harry dodged. The painting on the wall behind him exploded. Then:

"Crucio!" "Excorio!"

Their spells collided and a golden beam appeared, crackling with energy, connecting the two wands. The light of the beam grew stronger and sparks started to shoot off in random directions, leaving smoking burn marks all over the room. Not long after, a single thrill from a Phoenix was heard. The wands in their hands heated up and with the pain came a sense of dread. As one Voldemort and Harry lifted their eyes to meet the other's gaze, and as one they decided that nothing good could come of this connection. At the same time they jerked their wands upwards and the beam disappeared, leaving two panting wizards behind. Voldemort straightened his back.

"This isn't over yet Potter!" he said as he strode towards the door.

"Don't forget your clothes!" Harry screamed as he wordlessly banished them all at Voldemort who skilfully shrank them mid-air and directed them to his pocket. Then he withdrew something from another pocket and threw it at Harry. This time the moneybag didn't miss and Harry fell to the floor, unconscious. Fortunately, by that time, Voldemort had already disappeared out the door.

The next morning when Harry unfolded _the Daily Prophet_ he felt his blood freeze at the headline.

**Muggleborns to re-enter our society?**

**In a statement made early this morning Our Lord announced that the time for isolating muggleborns has passed. He had this to say:**

"**After the war was over, we were still living in chaos. As such, it was necessary to shut muggleborns out, temporarily, to get everything in order. However, while it has been a long time since we've again begun to tell them of our existence we never really welcomed them in. That was wrong of us. And so, to make up for our behaviour, we have decided that all muggleborn children just turned eleven are going to get the opportunity to live with a pureblood family for a few years. There they will remain until that family feels the child is ready to enter society.****"**

**This means that the old law preventing muggleborns to be educated by a tutor have been abolished. Although I am sure we all are relieved that they still are not allowed to possess wands.**

"**Maybe in the future when they have learned to respect our culture.****"**

**Was Our Lords answer to this question when asked. To read the new law in it's entirety, see page 6. **

The paper crumbled audibly as Harry clenched his hands into fists. The cup of tea next to him was vibrating more violently by the second until it suddenly exploded. Harry jumped at the noise and took a deep breath. Fortunately his magic had protected him from being hit by the bits of flying porcelain. Slowly he unclenched his fists and smoothed out the newspaper. A second look at it made his blood boil again so he took another deep breath before reaching out with his right hand into the air. A quill and a roll of parchment came flying. He started to write...


	9. Interlude: Meanwhile in the Muggle World

A/N: Even if this interlude isn't as fun as the last one was, it is relevant to the story.

Interlude: Meanwhile in the Muggle World

Hermione Granger, age 27, was depressed, again. Her drive to learn and to prove herself to the world had led to a friendless existence. Not many could handle being outshone by such brilliance as Hermione's. Besides, she was often a bit overbearing and condescending without thinking about it. So, although she had tried, in the end, she was alone. That is to say, except for when someone wanted to copy her homework etc.. After completing her A-levels Hermione had gone to university and from there immediately been employed by a medical research facility. Unfortunately for them she had resigned almost immediately because she found out exactly what their policy for human trials were.

At the moment Hermione was sitting in the wet wilted grass in a park, staring at the empty flowerbeds. As the days had shortened her depression had reached an all-time low and she desperately longed for the spring. Suddenly something moved in the flowerbed in front of her. Several handfuls of tiny flowers in pinks and yellows sprouted up and released a sweet smell in the air. This was not the first time something like this had happened. Once she had tried, but failed, to replicate the effects and after that she hadn't dared to again. The disappointment was more than she could take twice. No matter that just trying once wasn't very scientific. She had just closed her eyes and taken a deep breath when she opened them again, startled by a swooping sound. She was met by a strange sight: An owl with a letter in its beak sat perched on the ground in front of her. Staring at her. She carefully reached out to take hold of the letter and immediately the owl took off.

During the weeks to come Hermione Granger wasn't the only one to get a letter delivered by owl.

Immediately when she got home she opened her laptop and logged onto a website she frequented. She posted a notice for all to see:

_Today it happened again, but this time something else happened as well. I got a letter, delivered by an owl if you can believe that, that told me to come to London for a meeting. I have posted a copy of the letter in my shared folder. I have a feeling this can be the answer to all of our questions._

A/N: Though short, this was a bit difficult to write. I hadn't meant to include Hermione, but when I thought it over I couldn't help but notice how perfectly she fits. Unfortunately, as I'm not too fond of her, I didn't know how to portray her neutrally but I hope I've succeeded. Please, tell me what you think.


End file.
